Night Terror
by chris-daae
Summary: Erik never understood the real meaning of the expression "sleeping like a rock" until he started sharing a bed with Raoul.


Erik never understood the real meaning of the expression "sleeping like a rock" until he started sharing a bed with Raoul.

Raoul had a heavy sleep, being hard to wake up in the morning, and he seemed to not move an inch at night. Erik was the opposite, he never woke up in the same position he went to sleep, sheets and pillows usually ended up on the floor by morning, and someone once told him he even mumbled some incoherent phrases during his sleep.

So Erik was really worried that night when he woke up to Raoul trembling and letting out low painful moans. He thought the Vicomte was sick, and was about to wake him up when he realized his hands were slowly raising to his own neck.

A nightmare, perhaps. Erik had seen that gesture too many times on his life. He knew what it meant.

He and Raoul never talked about the past. Sometimes there was a mention of Christine, as they both loved her too much to never talk of her, but it was still painful and awkward to do so. They never talked about what happened in Paris, not a single word.

Erik wanted to comfort Raoul somehow, but found himself unable to touch him. A very familiar unpleasant feeling took him. He was sure that if Raoul woke up and saw him he would scream.

With a sigh, Erik left the room, being silent as he closed the door. It didn't matter much: Raoul slept like a rock. He walked to the kitchen to grab some water, or maybe some of the drinks he kept hidden.

They jumped into it without thinking. He was tired of living in that hotel, Raoul had told Gustave when they moved into Erik's place, an apartment on the highest floor of the single building in Phantasma. He didn't need such a thing, Erik was sure that Gustave had seen the heated kisses they exchanged more than once, and he talked very naturally about his "two fathers". The excuse was not for the boy's sake, but for Raoul's.

Erik did not waste time searching for excuses for himself. Christine was gone, and he found long ago that he did not mind that the lips kissing him were another man's. As for what the world would think, he couldn't care any less. He learned to ignore the world long ago too.

Maybe if he told himself some years later that he would one day be sharing a bed with the Vicomte he would not have believed it, but everything happened so naturally. It's true that they never agreed once before, but then they saw themselves sharing the same grief, the same loss, and the burden of parenthood. They were both broken, feeling alone, but having to be strong for a child who did not deserve to suffer even more for their mistakes. A child that they loved more than anything.

As the lonely nights went on, their bodies spoke louder than their rational minds, the need more powerful than any protests, and what once seemed unimaginable ended up the one comfort in a world that made very little sense.

Erik sighed, before swallowing a glass of whiskey. The only link he and Raoul shared was Gustave's parenthood and their body needs. They took care of the kid together because that's what Christine would have wanted. Erik had money and could teach Gustave all his art, but Raoul has been his father all of his life and shared with him a bond that could not be replaced.

Likewise, the only reason they could tolerate each other at first was Christine and her son. It would make her happy, right, to see the two men of her life getting along? Jealousy meant so little now that she was gone. Erik came to accept that what he shared with Christine and what she shared with Raoul, both could have been real without cancelling one another.

Christine was his one true love. What he had to Raoul just satisfied a need. A need for company, a need for physical intimacy. A need for someone who didn't look at him with the worship the Girys still somewhat felt, the admiration and intimidation he inspired on his workers, or the fear and repulsion everyone else had. Someone who saw him for what he was: a man, broken and guilty, but who still could do one or two good things if he tried. And God knew he was trying.

But really, Erik felt no particular affection for Raoul. He wouldn't even mind if he was to disappear from his life forever.

What could be any attractive in a spoiled nobleman who took everything he had for granted and lost everything to addictions and foolish pride? He was now paying one hell of a price, with the press looking for any chance to drag him even lower. Why did he stay in America? What did he have to say about his wife's murder? Why would he never answer the questions? Some even accused him of planning his wife's murder, even if the police had already concluded it was an accident and not even the shooter had been held responsible. Motivation? Honor. Why else would his only child now be raised in a freak show, surrounded by such low types?

Erik could almost pity him. Raoul was trying. He learned that his temper would only get him the worst from the press, but still refused to say anything about his personal life. He stopped drinking (Erik helped by forbidding anyone working in his park or in the bars and pubs around it to give him any alcohol). He tried often to keep his pride under control and prioritize what was better to Gustave. He was not the man that first arrived on Coney Island. He was the man that Christine would want him to be, the man that she deserved as husband. It was sad that the tragedy had to happen for him to change.

Erik drank another cup. He supposed the young man had his qualities. He was caring and supportive. That fit well with Erik's neediness and insecurity. A couple of times when he woke up from particularly bad nightmares, he found that Raoul's (rather soft) arms could be a nice place. He could get used to it.

But he should not. Everything had been too easy, too nice. Following Christine's wishes, but Christine was a dreamer that loved fairytales. Raoul was now having a nightmare and Erik could never be the one in whose arms he would find comfort. You can't be comforted by the one who gave you the nightmares.

They should have talked about Paris. They should have talked from the beginning, instead if pretending nothing happened. But what could he say? "Sorry that I tried to kill you to get Christine, also for the chandelier and all the rest?" Erik cursed his fool, younger but not so young self of then. Everything made so much sense then, like chess moves. After finally being able to live in daylight, he learned a lot more about society, about relationships, about humans. But he still had much more to learn, as proved by his actions that led to the tragedy. He regretted so much. He regretted the years spent clinging to a illusional sense of power. He regretted the hurting and killing of innocent people, regretted all the people who lost their jobs as consequence of what he did to the opera. He regretted most of all all the pain he caused to Christine. And now he had to regret even the stupid rope around Raoul's neck.

How could he fix it? Erik knew better than anyone the pain of physical threats and abuse. He couldn't undo the damage, his words would be meaningless. Of course, Raoul certainly knew that Erik was not that person anymore and that he would never hurt him again. Nice, but it couldn't do anything about the nightmare Raoul had now.

Erik knew from his own experience that some scars never disappear. Maybe that night, being so close to death, was Raoul's scar. There was nothing he could do.

Erik had to hold himself from throwing his glass to the floor. It was unfair. Raoul provided him comfort every time he needed. But he couldn't even comfort Raoul after one stupid nightmare. No, it seemed that the warnings they used to tell about him back in the fair, when he was still a child, were true after all. "Be careful, this one will give you nightmares for all of your nights." Indeed. It seemed his true talents were in causing horror. In the end he revealed himself as the exact monster everyone told about.

If the fear was still so strong in him, what did Raoul get from their relationship?

A door opened, interrupting Erik's thoughts. Raoul, only in his night pants, his eyes half closed, his hair a mess. Such a view.

Erik was probably a view himself, dressing his long black pajamas that were a little too large in some points, his bare face showing all its matinal glory.

"Morning", Raoul mumbled.

"Morning. Slept well?"


End file.
